


Painted Nails

by Goldstone_Wolf



Series: Dream Team Fics (Lol So Original) [10]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Gen, I was going to say something else but that's vastly inappropriate and I'm a minor anyways, Implied/Referenced Violence, Nail Painting, Nail Polish, Phil and Tubbo are probably green, Phil is the group dad, Platonic Relationships, Rock-Throwing, Soft Boys, TWs:, Techno and Tommy like the red nail polish, Toxic Masculinity Can Go Suck a Tailpipe, Why Did I Write This?, Wilbur's Kind of Tired from Working, and ace, dedicated to everyone who liked the fic where i said if i got five kudos i'd paint my nails, maybe yellow idk, the bracelets are a pronoun indicator, they/them and he/him pronouns for Tubbo, this is such a dad thing to do too, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27676889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldstone_Wolf/pseuds/Goldstone_Wolf
Summary: Tommy and Tubbo are doing their nails. Phil joins in. Then, Wilbur comes home in a bit of pain, and ends up joining them, too. Oh, and Techno’s there, too.
Relationships: ALL PLATONIC, Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit & Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, Too Lazy to Tag the Others
Series: Dream Team Fics (Lol So Original) [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2012464
Comments: 24
Kudos: 512





	Painted Nails

**Author's Note:**

> Tubbo seems like the kind of person who would paint their nails (their? His? Anyone who knows pronouns for the server, mind listing them out for me or like telling me where I can find them I know how misgendering feels and I don’t want to do it to someone else unless it’s in a situation where correct gendering will compromise their safety). Also, I will be painting mine as I type this story out (I would have done it earlier but a combination of the following—passing out, having a panic attack, and then throwing up over the course of two hours on Sunday; finding out our dog has heart problems he will die from sometime this week; dyeing my hair Monday night; having to deal with the painful realisation that I cannot and will not have kids while talking about an emergency pregnancy thing on Tuesday after finding out we are not, in fact, going to the camp I have gone to *every summer and winter for the past six years* this winter; gender dysphoria the whole week; and just the general transphobic and homophobic environment I’m always in—kind of prevented that. It happens.   
> Anyways screw gender roles they are a scam made by bathroom companies to sell more bathrooms! However, respect gender identity and pronouns! They are mandatory!

“Are you…painting your nails?”

Phil asked, pausing in the hallway. Looking in at Tommy and Tubbo, who were sitting on the living room carpet with the little bottles of nail polish, he tilted his head to the side. Tommy and Tubbo glanced in between one another. There seemed to be some sort of conversation that passed between them. Then, Tommy looked to Phil and very confidently said, “Yes.”

Phil paused for a second, looking at the papers in his hand. Stepping into the kitchen, he set them down on the counter and clapped his hands down on either side of them. “Do you have green?”

Tubbo looked through the different bottles in front of them. “Yes.” Immediately, Phil started striding over. “Yes!” Tommy screamed somewhat incoherently, throwing his arms into the air.

“Yeah!!!!” Phil started chuckling at his adopted kids, shaking his head ever so slightly as he sat down.

“Are we going to be joined by Techno and Wilbur?” Both of them shrugged, and Phil nodded calmly. One of their cats padded into the room and cuddled onto Tubbo’s lap, smushing its head against their ribs. Carefully, Phil tried undoing the cap and then frowned a few times. Tubbo reached over and opened it, then handed it back to the group dad with a smile. Phil smiled right back at them.

They sat there, with the little bottles of nail polish and the occasional, “Tommy, stop touching it you’re going to mess it up.” Of course, he somehow managed _not_ to mess up his nails. He kept holding his hands up to the light, looked over the bright colours and the sparkly red tones with a slight smile.

“You know what’s disgusting?” Tommy asked, and Tubbo and Phil looked to him. “Toxic masculinity. Toxic masculinity is _disgusting.”_ Both of them nodded, and the front door opened and closed. “Wilbur! Get your butt in here and paint your nails with us! It’s self-care day and you need it!”

Looking up as he set his guitar case down so it would lean against the couch, Wilbur met Tommy’s gaze with blurry, tired eyes. “Unless you’re doing my nails yourself—no.”

“Come on, Wil.” Phil said softly, and Wilbur sighed before settling down on the carpet. Reaching over, Phil took Wilbur’s hand and gently began massaging the back of it. “How was your wrist today?” He let his fingers run up to Wilbur’s wrist, gently working through the stress and pain there. With a sigh of relief, Wilbur closed his eyes. From the others’ guess and from the look, it was pretty easy to guess that Wilbur’s wrist was hurting. “Alright, sweetheart. Got a favour—”

“I have a colour!” Tubbo passed one over, a sparkly gold one. Grinning, they met Wilbur’s gaze, and Wilbur smiled tiredly at them.

“Thank you, Tubbo, dear.” Phil said, uncapping it and starting to do Wilbur’s nails. The musician didn’t move, clearly just trying to keep his eyes open.

“Why does it always feel cold?” He mumbled, eyes only partially open. Smiling, Phil reached up and ruffled Wilbur’s bangs. Wrinkling his nose, Wilbur leaned away.

Meanwhile, Tommy moved on to his non-dominant hand, frowning. The chemical smell of nail polish filled the air and Tommy cursed loudly. “I forgot to start the timer!” He scrambled for the timer, managed to turn it on. “Oh, no, did I smudge it?” He sighed in relief and leaned against Tubbo. “Oh, thank the Queen! We are _so_ having some of those Russian tea cakes when we’re done with this.”

Tubbo glanced over. “You sound so British. Tea cakes.” He mused with a soft snort. Whipping around, Tommy glared at him.

“You’re British, you little—”

“Beloved children of mine.” Phil arched an eyebrow at them. Pushing their shoulders up a bit, both of them slumped down a bit. Meanwhile, Wilbur chuckled sleepily. Phil gently set his now-painted down on his knee and started massaging the other one. “How’s the tension now?”

“Better.” Wilbur mused, starting to visibly relax. Phil smiled softly and nodded, then moved his fingers up to Wilbur’s wrist. A soft gasp scaped him and he yanked back quickly. “Sorry.”

“Did I hurt you?” Wilbur shook his head. Meanwhile, Tommy started scrunching up his nose and then making a few sounds. He reached up, itched the tip of his nose carefully. “Tommy, you alright?”

“Itchy nose.” Looking down at his nails, he studied them. “Do I have glitter on my nose?”

He did, in fact, have glitter on his nose.

Tubbo pointed this out. Sighing, Tommy shook his head. “Everything okay?” Tubbo asked, leaning forwards just a little bit,

“They’re so messy.” Pouting slightly, Tommy took a breath and then coughed. “Such a lovely smell of acetone.” Shaking his head, he mused, “Isn’t this a little toxic?”

“Probably. Do we care?” Tubbo shrugged and then added, “Probably not. We’re all going to die anyways, the world is going to be swallowed by the sun one day. Screw gender roles, screw toxic masculinity, let’s paint our nails and ignore the disgusting smell!”

Wilbur pulled his knees up to his chest and leaned against the couch, closing his eyes and relaxing. “How was your day?” Phil asked, and Wilbur laughed softly.

“Tiring. Someone threw a rock at me.” Tommy and Tubbo shared a glance and the former straightened up.

“Tell me where they were! I’ll go and beat the pulp out of them!” He roared, and Wilbur smiled and then shook his head.

“It’s not a big deal—”

Tommy started spluttering. “Not a big deal! Someone threw a rock at you!”

Techno appeared, a frown crossing his face. “What about throwing rocks at Wilbur?” He asked, hopping up on the arm of the couch. Sending Tommy a look, Phil explained.

“Someone threw a rock at Wilbur today while he was working. Are you alright, Wilbur?” The musician nodded, and Phil went back to painting his nails the sparkly gold that Tubbo and Tommy had handed over. Meanwhile. Techno leaned over and wrinkled his nose.

“That smells disgusting.”

“It’s acetone. Feel like sending a big fat middle finger to toxic masculinity and stereotyping?” Tubbo asked, and Techno grinned wickedly. Throwing his legs over the arm of the chair, he slid down to beside Tubbo and started looking through the bottles. “We have a blood-toned red, as long as you don’t mind sparkles.”

“It’ll be reminiscent of the fireworks I slaughter my enemies with.” Techno dramatically said, placing one hand on his chest with his fingers fanned out. Holding up the bottle of sparkling red nail polish to the light, he mused, “Blood for the blood god.”

Snorting, Tubbo shoved him in the shoulder. “Thanks for that, by the way.” Techno grinned even larger, a particular light dancing in his eyes.

“You are very welcome, little bro—sibling?” Tubbo held up their wrist, which had both the blue and green bands on. Nodding, Techno mused, “Brother-sibling. Bribling.”

Snorting, Tubbo echoed, “Bribling.”

Wilbur sleepily chuckled and mumbled, “ _Bribling.”_

Phil shook his head and said, “My children are so weird.”

Tommy started gasping dramatically. When everyone looked to him (including Wilbur, who barely seemed awake), he sputtered out, “Me? Weird? What did I do?”

“You existed.” Techno mused, and Tommy shot him a glare. Phil opened his mouth, clearly about to step in, when Tubbo reached over and touched Tommy’s arm. Some sort of message passed between the two, and Tommy slumped down.

“Give me the stupid nail polish.”

“No.”

“You need to wait thirty minutes between each coat! Otherwise the sparkles won’t spread properly!” Tommy yelled, and one of the timers went off. Chucking it at Techno, he grabbed the nail polish before it could spill on the carpet. Phil, whose heart had jumped to his throat, pressed a hand against his chest. Wilbur and Tubbo both laughed softly. Meanwhile, Techno started working with the timer and Tommy put another coat on his hands. “Look, see? You need to spread the sparkles out efficiently. Can’t just go willy-nilly like you’re trying to speedrun Minecraft, you stupid American.”

“Who won the Revolutionary War?”

Tommy stuck his tongue out at Techno, who responded in kind. “You know I can keep this away from you, force you to do pink.”

“I will do pink.”

“Oh, really?”

“Watch me.”

Phil sighed and glanced between Tubbo and Wilbur. “So, what do you two want for dinner?”

**Author's Note:**

> I want a cat, or maybe a girlfriend. Maybe both. Even worse, I finally did my nail polish (it took me three hours) but then I ended up screwing up half the nails! And only one of them is on my left hand. Like, sure, I’m semi-ambidextrous, but…hurgh. So now I’m repairing it, and I have another hour of putting on more nail polish on that one hand. And then I have to draw something for my mom’s birthday, so wish me luck with that. I’m using the Animal Crossing: New Leaf guide that I st—I mean, “borrowed”—from my brother for the outfit. Because why not get some practice of different wardrobes than to draw your mother in Animal Crossing styles?   
> Also, I forgot my shower was dyed pink-red so lemme tell you watching several creepy videos and then walking in to find the walls striped with red was *not* terrifying at all. (/s) It’s that time of night when my mind is like “hey, remember that time when that girl you’ve known since preschool wrote a Wattpad fic in seventh grade and then when you asked her if it was okay for you to do a spinoff of the character based off of you going off on a mission and then she revealed that your character was the one that she picked to die and now you’re wondering if you had a crush on her as well as wanting to be friends and now you’re thinking back on all the other times that you’ve been around people and you’re always the one picked last so no one wants you around except for two people who all have better and closer friends and they’re the only people who actually use my pronouns because my parents are super homophobic and transphobic”  
> Also, I had to type some of this with one hand because of painting my nails. Picked that spot to end because I’m writing out some hurt-comfort. Anyways, this will be taken down from Ao3 if the creators request. Don’t push it in their faces, that’s rude. I hope y’all have a lovely day, thank you for reading! Y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing, and I hope to see you in the next one!


End file.
